A 
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G.  MCA.  B. 


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A   PASTIME 


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Thy  poems,  thy  own  bandmark,  I  lovt  wtll, 
Delicate  fair  flowers  blooming  in  the  waste, 
Not  dashes  of  a  gay  abandonment, 
But  glimpses  of  a  spirit  that  knows  not  pain. 

Towards  that  spirit  thy  patient  heart  was  stt. 

"  Whither  art  tbou  gone  ?  "  thou  askedst  the  brief 

bloom 

Of  the  cereus  fading  glory,  and  the  asking 
Tells  me  that  tbou  knowest  things  unseen. 

C.  H.  H. 


7G28S4 


INTRODUCTION. 


"  Dear,  lovely,  bravest  comrade,  you  did  not  wait  for 
peril  to  say  '  I  love  you.'  There  is  nothing  in  earth  but 
love,  and  we  have  been  blessed  beyond  the  common." 

These  words,  written  by  a  dear  friend  of 
Grafton  Belknap,  may  well  be  echoed  by  all 
who  knew  him.  In  his  frail  but  noble  pres 
ence  the  other  things  on  earth  —  health  and 
wealth  and  fame,  which  are  wont  to  look  large  — 
took  their  own  subordinate  place.  Mother  love 
is  as  common  as  responsive  filial  appreciation  is 
rare.  Herein  he  excelled.  Love,  regnant  in 
him,  radiating  from  him,  poured  back  to  him 
in  full  measure  from  her  who  knew  him  best, 

vii 


made  the  valley  sometimes  called  dark  a  border 
land  of  exceeding  peace. 

Those  who  have  read  the  little  volume 
called  "Grafton's  Pastime"  have  asked  to  know 
something  of  the  writer  they  never  saw.  To 
them  this  brief  sketch  is  offered,  gathered  from 
the  views  of  different  friends. 

B.  M.  C. 


viii 


SKETCH  OF  A  QUIET  LAD. 


THERE  are  many  ways  of  approaching  Heaven 
while  on  earth,  but  the  path  by  which  Grafton 
went  was  one  so  difficult  that  it  seems  as  if 
angels  came  down  to  help  him  on  the  way,  and 
some  of  the  heavenly  helpfulness  was  given  to 
all  who  approached  him.  And  if  through  the 
bitterness  of  pain  and  deprivation  there  were  also 
compensations,  of  the  chief  of  these  compensa 
tions  he  himself  was  unconscious  —  that  he  was 
showing  the  world  about  him  the  way  into  light 
and  the  sustaining  power  of  the  love  of  God. 

Life  opened  for  Grafton  full  of  promise.  He 
was  strong  and  well,  with  a  sunny  tempera 
ment,  a  courageous  spirit,  and  a  thoroughly 
sweet  and  healthy  nature.  He  took,  at  a  very 

ix 


early  age,  an  active  interest  in  the  affairs  going 
on  about  him.  When  his  father  came  in  one 
day  to  luncheon  with  signs  of  recent  irritation, 
"  Cap'n  Belknap,  whath's  up,  ther,  whath's 
up,  I  thay?  "  he  cried,  striking  the  table  with 
his  little,  not  three-years'-old  fist,  as  if  he 
would  himself  reduce  navy  and  navy-yard  to 
order. 

He  was  only  three  when  one  brilliant  New 
Year's  Day,  in  Florida,  he  fell  from  his  goat- 
cart,  although  under  the  care  of  his  nurse  and 
surrounded  by  his  companions.  It  was  not  till 
many  weeks  afterward,  on  Ash  Wednesday, 
that  the  serious  result  of  the  fall  became  evi 
dent,  and  one  day  the  child  was  found  unable 
to  walk.  Tender,  untiring  nursing,  the  watch 
ful  care  and  wisdom  of  the  best  surgeons,  after 
two  years  put  him  on  his  feet  again,  weak  and 
supported  artificially,  but  otherwise  in  good 
health  and  full  of  hope  and  happiness.  Then 
followed  the  years  he  always  referred  to  as 
"  When  I  knew  what  it  was  to  be  a  boy."  At 


his  games  then  he  was  most  eager,  as  in  all 
innocent  mischief  and  fun.  His  brother  —  an 
ideal  brother  he  used  to  call  him — declared 
that  he  had  the  real  spirit  of  sport  in  him  ; 
but  he  won  commendation  at  school  for  clear 
ness  of  mind,  steadiness  and  attention,  and  he 
was  most  regular  and  devout  at  church.  He 
studied  his  music  at  that  time  very  faithfully, 
longing  to  be  able  to  express  the  harmonies 
he  inwardly  heard  and  felt.  No  lesson,  how 
ever  distasteful,  would  he  slight,  even  after  he 
grew  too  ill  to  exact  much  of  himself. 

Only  once,  in  all  his  playgrounds,  did  he 
suffer  from  that  indelicacy  which  is  another 
form  of  brutality.  He  told  his  mother  of  it 
when  talking  over  the  day,  as  he  always  did. 
But  it  was  observed  afterwards  that  he  never 
failed  to  treat  this  schoolfellow  courteously. 
One  evening  his  account  of  his  day  and  of  his 
playmates  seemed  less  kind  than  usual;  so  his 
mother,  being  much  engaged  and  hurried  away, 
said,  as  she  bade  him  good-night  all  too  unob- 


servantly,  "  That  is  not  fair  and  large.  I  cannot 
have  you  have  a  small  mind,  you  know."  On 
her  return,  very  late,  she  found  a  sheet  of  paper 
pinned  prominently  to  her  cushion,  on  which, 
unevenly  written,  were  the  words:  "Dear 
Mother,  I  cannot  go  to  sleep  till  I  tell  you  I 
have  not  a  small  mind.  I  will  not  do  so  any 
more,  Grafton."  And  he  lay  sleeping  sweetly, 
assured  he  had  made  all  right. 

He  had,  for  a  number  of  his  long,  few  years 
of  life,  the  sunniest  and  sweetest  little  friend, 
who  would,  even  when  both  were  very  small, 
leave  all  else  while  he  rested,  as  he  was  daily 
obliged  to  do,  and  stay  by  him  quietly  playing 
or  talking.  And  when  the  hour  of  rest  was 
over,  she  would  spring  to  fetch  and  carry  for 
him,  the  very  embodiment  of  the  soul  of  sweet 
est  womanhood.  Their  friendship  continued  for 
twelve  years,  if  indeed  his  passing  out  of  sight 
has  broken  it. 

On   his  mother's   reception   days,  during  this 
happy  period,  he   never  failed  to  appear,  fresh 

xii 


from  a  more  or  less  ornate  toilet, —  usually  less  ; 
entering  at  the  back  of  the  long  room,  after 
a  brief  retired  interview  with  his  devoted  satel 
lite,  Gray,  the  colored  butler,  he  would  come 
forward,  very  bulging  as  to  his  pockets,  make 
his  bow,  utter  a  few  remarks,  eat  a  maccaroon, 
and  depart  to  his  group  of  "Merrie  Men,"  wait 
ing  at  "Ye  Inne  "  on  the  lawn  :  a  pleasure  house 
modelled  after  Mr.  Pyle's  "Inne"  in  ^pbin 
Hood.  The  climax  of  his  joy  in  these  days  was 
reached  when  he  found  his  strength  and  knowl 
edge  so  far  relied  on  that  he  was  trusted  to 
steer  the  big  steam-launch  to  the  wharf,  to  meet 
his  mother.  The  sturdy  little  figure  of  an 
earnest,  active  boy  looks  out  from  that  vantage 
ground  very  proudly  in  her  memory  now. 

His  happy  nature  made  happiness  about  him. 
His  sister,  who  was  married  when  he  was  five 
years  old,  wrote  years  afterward  that  his 
little  wish  so  graciously  expressed  that  she 
might  be  a  very  happy  bride,  followed  her 
like  a  benediction.  He  loved  everyone  and 

xiii 


all  things,  brimmed  with  the  joy  of  being. 
His  pets  were  numberless,  and  he  cared  for 
all  of  them;  there  were  dogs,  of  course,  chief 
of  them  a  fine  setter  named  Alaska,  all  the 
cats  and  kittens  within  hail,  rabbits,  white 
mice,  squirrels,  gold-fish,  parrots,  a  monkey; 
there  were  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Rice,  a  pair  of  birds; 
the  turtle,  Zero ;  and  Cookie,  a  hen,  that 
would  follow  him  about  and  eat  from  his  hand. 
Cookie  was  the  gift  of  a  playmate  whom  he 
had  in  Washington,  a  lady  of  rare  mental 
endowments  and  an  even  more  rare  spirit,  but 
sad  with  the  mystery  of  suffering.  He  had 
been  playing  in  her  yard,  and  when  she  offered 
him,  Spanish  fashion,  her  house  and  all  it 
contained,  he  instantly  demanded  the  hen,  and 
on  account  of  its  color  named  it  for  the  dainty 
his  playmate  provided  for  him.  It  was  a  thing 
to  see  the  child  flying  down  the  path  bare 
headed  and  with  arms  outstretched,  to  welcome 
this  stately  playmate;  and  he  made  some 
of  her  happiest  moments.  They  wandered 


together  through  the  Smithsonian,  talking  of 
the  megatherium,  or  of  the  "dried  people," 
the  mummies  there.  When  his  parents  spent 
evenings  away  from  home,  she  would  come 
and  read  to  him,  and  they  would  have  a  little 
supper  for  two  in  dainty  style.  She  wrote 
just  before  her  own  last  days  here:  "Dear, 
lovely,  bravest  comrade,  you  did  not  wait  for 
peril  to  say  '  I  love  you.'  You  and  I  do  not 
mind  ailments  here  below.  If  we  could  have 
one  more  evening  of  communion  (and  refresh 
ment)  together,  we  might  be  happy  yet,  pro 
tern."  A  few  failing  days  later  this  message 
came  from  her  to  Grafton's  mother:  "You 
will  like  to  think,  if  such  be  the  result,  that  I 
am  waiting  for  him  in  the  Better  Land  —  even 
if  I  am  not  as  sure  as  you.  There  is  nothing 
on  earth  but  love,  and  we  have  been  blessed 
beyond  the  common."  Her  last  exertion  of 
strength  was,  with  face  and  gesture  of  unutter 
able  tenderness,  in  behalf  of  a  Spanish  mother 
of  fourteen  years,  whose  husband  had  been 


arrested  for  stealing  food.  Grafton's  last  min 
istration  was  in  succoring  a  starved  and  abused 
creature  brought  in  from  the  highway,  feeding 
it  drop  by  drop,  and  warming  it  with  his  own 
body. 

It  was  while  living  in  Washington,  that 
Grafton  made  a  more  intimate  acquaintance 
with  the  stars,  in  which  the  son  of  a  sailor 
always  feels  his  father's  companions;  and  you 
might  see  him  looking  at  Mars  and  at  the 
rings  of  Saturn,  as  he  sat  on  the  knee  of  the 
gentle  and  wise  astronomer,  who  said  of  him, 
"  He  tells  what  he  sees  ;  he  does  not  see 
always  whatever  he  is  told."  He  studied  with 
a  dear  great-aunt,  both  enjoying  the  hour 
greatly;  animated  discussion  sometimes  ending 
in  a  cheerful  unconvinced,  "Well,"  from  the 
little  pupil,  as  he  went  to  work  again  with 
sweet  submission. 

But  now,  for  a  second  time,  he  became 
unable  to  walk,  nor  did  the  power  ever  return 
to  him  in  any  marked  degree.  Someone  said 


to  him  then,  "  You  are  glad  to  suffer.  Your 
Saviour  did."  "No,"  said  Grafton,  with  the 
simple  truthfulness  that  never  faltered,  "I  am 
not  glad.  I  want  to  live,  to  work,  to  do 
something!"  At  another  time  he  said,  "I  do 
not  think  it  is  so  much  the  good  in  the  Acts 
of  the  Apostles  and  the  Pilgrim's  Progress  that 
I  like,  as  the  adventure."  He  had  some  ad 
venture  soon  in  the  voyage  in  Asiatic  waters. 

As  he  lay,  day  after  day,  in  the  windowful 
of  sky  and  water,  he  sketched  and  colored 
with  unfaltering  touch  the  vessels  of  his  much- 
loved  fleet  at  anchor  in  Yokohama  Bay.  Firm 
ness  of  touch  marked  all  he  did,  as  directness 
of  purpose  marked  all  he  said,  with  a  fasci 
nating  mixture  of  boyishness  and  manliness. 

The  Japanese  painting  teacher  pointed  after 
the  second  lesson  to  his  work,  saying,  "Look 
at  that!"  and  brushing  aside,  in  scorn  that  was 
laughably  genuine,  the  attempt  of  another  pupil. 
He  learned  to  use  the  chop-sticks  very  deftly 
presently,  as  one  may  see  by  the  print  of  the 

xvii 


Japanese  tea-party,  attended  by  the  Chinese 
servant  and  the  native  dog.  He  had  enough 
Chinese  to  know  when  the  apparently  bland 
and  deferential  servants  were  joking  among 
themselves,  or  profane,  and  related  curious  in 
stances  quite  unsuspected  of  John  Chinaman. 
He  was  a  trustworthy  source  of  information 
about  any  of  the  chief  vessels  of  the  principal 
navies  of  the  world.  Always  loving  his  own 
land  ardently,  in  his  diary  one  may  find  such 
passages  as  this :  "  I  have  done  the  little  1  could 
for  my  country.  I  pray  daily  as  well  as  I  know 
how  for  it."  And  one  can  imagine  how  the 
beautiful  flag  floating  over  those  distant  waters 
sometimes  filled  the  boy  with  rapture.  At  the 
age  of  eleven,  "Does  not  your  heart  swell 
within  you  when  you  see  them  ?  "  he  asked, 
turning  a  glowing  face  to  his  mother,  as  they 
passed  some  historic  naval  vessels,  monitors  and 
old  line-of-battleships.  She  felt  rebuked  that 
she  had  not  shared  his  emotion;  but  although 
pained  he  instantly  forgave,  and  they  went  on 


educating  each  other.  But  his  love  of  his  own 
flag  did  not  hinder  his  admiration  of  strength  and 
daring  under  other  colors.  He  never  forgot  the 
gracious  kindliness  of  the  British  Commander-in- 
Chief,  a  V.C.,  who  made  him,  as  it  were,  a 
special  guest  on  board  the  flag-ship  Imperieuse ; 
that  visit,  and  the  night  he  dined  and  slept 
on  board  the  Dolphin,  as  its  captain's  guest, 
being  treasured  memories.  Rocking  there  in  the 
dark  waters,  under  foreign  stars,  stirred  his  im 
agination  and  made  him  feel,  like  Ulysses,  that 
he  was  a  part  of  all  that  he  had  seen.  He  was 
present  with  his  camera,  too,  at  the  superb 
launching  of  the  Japanese  sloop-of-war  HasUdate, 
where,  instead  of  breaking  a  bottle  of  wine,  at 
the  touch  of  the  Mikado  that  started  the  craft,  a 
large  globe  of  flowers  suspended  at  the  prow 
burst  open,  freeing  a  flock  of  white  doves  which 
followed  in  the  wake  of  the  gliding  hull  amidst  a 
shower  of  blossoms  and  petals. 

Gifted  men,  heroes  of   our  own  country  and 
of   England  especially,   poets,   students,  in  fact 

xix 


the  noblest  and  finest  of  all  who  visited  his  home, 
were  drawn  to  his  side,  as  by  a  magnet,  feeling 
the  power  of  that  composed  and  restful,  one 
might  say  untroubled,  personality,  while  he  lis 
tened  to  their  tale  of  brave  deeds  done,  or  to 
other  trend  and  current  of  their  thought  and 
deep,  keen  converse.  An  invisible  line  was 
drawn  and  distinctly  felt  by  the  merely  fash 
ionable  and  frivolous. 

He  was  writing  verses  now ;  at  first  to  wear 
away  the  time  when  alone  or  with  servants,  as 
was  sometimes  unavoidable.  He  had  always 
had  a  notable  memory,  and  loving  poetry,  had 
committed  many  a  page  while  awaiting  bath  or 
breakfast.  It  is  not  difficult  to  fancy  his  relish 
of  Homer's  account  of  Achilles  playing  the  harp 
which  he  had  taken  prize,  and  "loving  sacred 
music  well  made  it  his  exercise."  The  first  of 
his  own  verses  is  hung  on  a  little  thread  of 
affectionate  raillery.  The  lines  to  his  mother 
were  written  "to  order/'  he  said.  "For  1  did 
not  want  to  undertake  what  I  had  no  words  to 


express."  Nihho,  too,  was  commanded.  "The 
silence  smothers  me,  especially  here  in  Nikko," 
he  said;  "the  incessant  hush  of  light-falling 
waters."  The  Metrical  Translation  was  pre 
sented,  with  a  charming  French  speech,  on  one 
of  the  anniversaries  of  his  father  and  mother. 
Little  Jar-vis  was  written  with  a  fervor  and  real 
ization  that  brought  the  dew  to  his  brow.  The 
Robbers'  Chorus  is  from  a  play  written  for  a 
little  theatre.  But  every  word  of  every  page 
is  wholly  his.  No  suggestion  or  amendment 
would  he  accept,  however  he  admitted  the 
improvement. 

When  affairs  made  a  return  to  the  United 
States  imperative,  Grafton  was  too  seriously  ill 
to  be  moved.  Distressed  at  being  an  obstacle, 
"  I  know  something  must  be  done  and  quickly. 
It  seems  much  easier  to  die  than  to  get  well,"  he 
sighed.  He  and  his  mother  remained  behind  in 
the  foreign  land  overflowing  with  friends.  Our 
calm  and  indefatigable  Bishop  Hare  was  then  in 
Japan,  and  he  found  time,  even  in  the  midst  of 

xxi 


his  incessant  calls  and  from  his  trips  to  Nara 
yonder,  and  far  Cathay,  to  visit  and  confirm  his 
suffering  young  compatriot.  Months  afterward, 
when  he  had  rallied,  he  said,  "  I  was  too  weak 
to  answer  the  Bishop ;  but  I  understood  him  ; 
he  is  the  only  minister  who  talks  to  me  as  if 
I  were  alive." 

The  impression  which  Grafton  made  upon 
people  at  this  time  was  most  significant.  One 
person  said  that  he  was  like  a  prince  lying  there 
and  surrounded  by  the  ceremonial  of  a  court ; 
and  some  verses  addressed  to  him  declared  that 
he  seemed  like  a  great  soul  that  had  put  aside 
the  pomp  of  homage,  the  delight  and  daring  of 
hero  or  saint,  and  lay  upon  a  narrow  couch  a 
boy  wearing  away  weary  hours,  and  testing  the 
whole  of  pain,  through  it  all  the  ruling  soul 
apparent.  It  could  only  have  been  a  remark 
able  boy  that  aroused  such  thought  and  feeling. 
This  person  sent  him  poems  ;  that  one  came 
and  told  him  Oriental  stories,  full  of  vivid  sym 
bolism,  which  he  penetrated  and  enjoyed  ;  and 


one  said,  in  tender  and  beautiful  phrase,  that 
he  seemed  to  have  heard  the  voice  of  Fate  say 
ing,  "Somewhere  in  the  world  a  child  must 
have  suffering,"  and  he  had  answered,  "I  will 
be  he;"  and  God  had  said,  "Let  love  walk 
with  him."  Love  surely  did. 

In  time  he  and  his  mother  slowly  sought  their 
way  home  from  this  land  of  flowers  and  sweet 
enchantments,  and  all  the  way  the  hard  path 
blossomed  with  kindnesses  in  unexpected  places. 
From  railroad  kings  to  railroad  porters,  from 
masters  of  great  ocean  steamers  to  the  heathen 
servants,  all  were  untiring  in  their  efforts  to 
smooth  the  way.  "  I  am  sorry,  Ah  Soong,  to 
wake  you  so  often,"  Grafton  said,  one  sleepless 
night.  "But  you  cannot  help  it,"  said  the 
Chinese  attendant,  in  an  expression  of  feeling 
surprising  to  one  who  knew  the  silent  and 
saturnine  manner  of  the  race. 

At  night  his  mother  often  heard  him  whisper 
ing  his  prayers,  and  sometimes  he  fell  asleep 
with  them  on  his  lips.  He  passed  many  wake- 


ful  hours  which  he  never  mentioned.  Some 
times  the  beloved  hand  on  his  forehead  would 
bring  relief,  and  then  he  would  gently  remove 
the  hand  to  an  easier  position.  There  was 
always  an  atmosphere  of  poetry  in  his  relation 
to  his  mother  and  in  his  admiring  and  satisfied 
love  of  her.  During  an  indisposition  of  her 
own,  she  wrote  to  him  on  the  only  scrap  of 
paper  at  hand  a  line  of  approbation  and  hope 
ful  promise ;  after  her  recovery  she  observed 
that  he  changed  something  with  his  handker 
chief  to  the  pocket  at  every  fresh  toilet.  It 
was  this  scrap  of  paper,  and  it  never  left 
him. 

Ill  and  powerless,  he  had  always  a  knightly 
spirit.  Once,  when  witnessing  some  rudeness 
to  a  woman,  "Oh!  what  it  is  to  feel  like  a 
man  and  be  unable  to  act  like  one,"  he  ex 
claimed,  with  blazing  eyes  and  clenched,  frail 
hands.  But  storms  rarely  overcame  the  stead 
fast  self-control  and  the  sense  of  support  that 
abided  in  him.  He  never  wished  that  others 


should  feel  the  dragging  weight  of  his  heavy 
cross.  Twice  only  she  who  loved  him  best 
saw  the  awful  anguish  and  was  enabled,  by 
the  silent,  all-encompassing  heavenly  love,  to 
heal  and  to  sustain.  His  mother  has  said  that 
she  will  never  forget  his  start  of  dismay  and 
distress  when  at  sight  of  his  suffering  her  trust 
once  wavered  before  him,  nor  cease  to  be 
thankful  that  it  restored  her  instantly  to  her 
right  mind  and  so  restored  him  to  his.  "What 
would  you  think  of  me  if  1  broke  the  legs  of 
a  little  bird  and  wounded  it  ?  "  one  said.  "  But 
if  it  made  the  little  bird  an  eagle,"  was  the 
quick  response. 

Once  when  his  mother  was  speaking  with 
some  bitterness  of  a  certain  action,  he  said,  his 
clear  eyes  on  hers,  "  You  wouldn't  feel  that  way, 
would  you,  mother,  if  you  loved  that  person 
right  ?"  He  cut  directly  to  the  root  of  the  mat 
ter,  and  such  was  his  own  comprehensive  love 
that  he  had  no  hesitation  in  speaking.  His 
utterances  were  always  spontaneous,  the  voice 


of  sweet  impulse  and  fine  insight.  His  happy 
spirit  and  his  mirthful  sayings  hindered  gloom 
where  he  was.  "  Procrastination  is  the  spice 
of  life,"  he  said  ;  and  of  a  very  lugubrious 
visitor  he  boldly  asked,  "Did  you  never  have 
a  good  time  in  all  your  life  ?"  He  himself  knew 
the  art  of  getting  a  good  time,  if  only  at  second 
hand,  as  the  philosopher  could  extract  sunshine 
from  unpromising  material.  "  He  possessed," 
wrote  concerning  him  the  mother  of  other 
children,  "the  qualities  of  radiant  cheerfulness 
and  generous  pleasure  in  the  enjoyment  of 
others,  although  he  could  not  participate.  I 
remember  I  saw  him  one  day  on  the  lawn  with 
other  boys  who  were  performing  gymnastic 
feats.  He  was  as  thoroughly  in  the  spirit  of 
the  fun  as  they.  I  felt  it  was  a  privilege  for 
my  children  and  myself  to  have  had  even  this 
slight  acquaintance  with  him." 

Leaden-footed  hours  of  misery  approached  at 
last,  as  he  was  borne,  step  by  step,  down  the 
valley  of  the  shadow.  Full  of  the  heroic  dreams 


of  youth,  still  eager  for  happier  things  than  this 
constant  companionship  of  pain,  he  rarely  ex 
pressed  impatience.  "If  I  could  walk,  and 
knew  anyone  like  me,"  he  sighed  once,  "  I 
would  go  to  see  him  every  day  or  I  would  send 
him  something,  if  only  a  postal,"  and  his  heart 
overflowed  with  grateful  acknowledgment  of 
every  kindness.  "  Tell  him,  that  though  I 
cannot  see  him,  I  love  him  just  the  same,"  he 
sent  word  to  a  gentleman  who  had  made  occa 
sions  of  pleasure  for  him  and  afterwards  of 
relief  when  pleasure  was  not  to  be  thought  of; 
not  permitting  the  message  to  be  taken  by  the 
nurse,  but  by  a  member  of  the  family:  "You 
go,"  he  said  ;  "  but  don't  stay." 

It  was  in  the  last  year  that  he  said  one  day 
to  his  mother,  "I  think  I  must  be  growing 
worse,  1  like  flowers  so  much  better — la  France 
for  you  to  wear,  and  pansies  are  companion 
able  for  me."  All  his  childhood,  even  before 
he  knew  its  name,  the  passion-flower  had  been 
the  one  that  appealed  to  him  with  its  mystery 


and  beauty.  He  had  never  any  word  of  blame 
concerning  the  cause  of  his  misfortune ;  but 
questioned  at  this  time  of  great  trial  about  the 
negligence  of  the  nurse  who  let  him  fall,  "She 
had  a  lover,  you  know,"  he  said,  as  if  he 
would  excuse  her. 

Thus  it  was  the  high  spirit  supported  the 
weak  and  fainting  body.  Although  constantly 
caring  for  it  night  and  day  for  years,  the  one 
who  was  nearest  to  him  scarcely  felt  as  if, 
after  all,  he  had  a  body,  so  supreme  over  it 
were  mind  and  will.  "In  the  midst  of  all  he 
struggled  through,"  wrote  an  active  man  of 
stirring  life,  "there  was  a  little  heaven  in 
his  smile.  He  should  have  all  the  honors  of 
the  heroes  he  loved.  The  rare  child  fought 
the  battle  of  life  as  well  as  any  soldier  of 
them  all." 

There  came  now  days  and  weeks  of  inexpress 
ible  suffering  ;  but  through  everything  there  was 
dignity  and  consideration  for  others,  the  court 
liest  courtesy  towards  all  who  approached  him. 


After  he  became  too  "tired"  to  write  in  a  diary 
he  had  a  calendar  which  he  marked  /  x  m  re^ 
or  blue,  as  the  days  were  easier  and  to  be  en 
dured,  or  heavy  and  intolerable.  The  record 
bears  aloft  the  red  banner,  the  trumpet-tones 
of  victory,  to  the  last  page  ;  five  blue  crosses 
the  first  of  the  six  months ;  only  ten  the  last. 

Expressing  gratitude  and  a  sense  of  rest,  he 
died  as  he  had  lived,  troubling  no  one.  The 
lights  were  out,  and  the  household  slept.  And 
that  day  dawned  which  taught  that  never  upon 
this  side  of  immortality  would  sound  the  music 
of  his  morning  summons, — his  spirit  wholly  rapt 
away  in  divine  Easter  hallelujahs. 

As  I  remember  him,  always  lying  on  the 
couch,  among  his  books  and  flowers,  the  spirit 
shining  through  his  face  like  white  flame,  the 
sunny  smile  of  welcome  just  dashed  with  sad 
ness,  his  was  a  beauty  not  of  earth,  and  it 
seems  to  me  that  he  shut  up  in  his  short  life  a 
service,  a  martyrdom,  and  a  glory. 

His  COUSIN  HAL. 


CRITICISMS. 


These  verses  were  written  by  a  lad  whose  misfortune 
shut  him  out  from  many  of  the  ordinary  pleasures  of  life. 
They  were  written  mostly  between  the  ages  of  fifteen  and 
seventeen.  That  they  are  as  good  as  they  are  ought  cer 
tainly  to  be  matter  of  pride  to  those  who  loved  him,  but 
we  must  expect  no  more  than  adventitious  value  from 
other  readers.  They  interest  because  a  child  wrote  them 
and  because  he  died  in  what  was  merely  his  intellectual 
apprenticeship.  The  pleasure  he  found  in  writing  was  a 
sort  of  compensation  for  all  that  was  denied  him :  the 
diversion  gave  him  the  joy  of  art,  the  satisfaction  which 
lies  in  all  work  when  we  try  to  do  it  well.  Its  worth 
was  subjective  of  aesthetic  and  intellectual  value  to 
him.  It  filled  days  and  nights  with  a  "  light  that  never 
was  on  sea  or  land."  Present  pain  and  the  dark  future 
were  both  obscured  under  this  spell  of  using  the  resources 
within  his  own  mind :  there  he  was  well  and  whole. 


Really  there  was  beauty  and  a  good  lesson  in  this  boy's 
life.  Though  he  had  not  come  to  his  work  he  had  shown 
his  tendency  and  quality,  and  in  the  promise  his  verses 
gave,  we  gladly  see  a  potential  success.  We  give  him 
credit  "for  what  he  aspired  to  be."  Fate  did  not  give 
him  time  to  accomplish. 

We  get  from  this  a  good  practical  thought.  There  is  a 
no  more  absorbing  and  delightful  exercise  of  the  mind  than 
the  making  of  verse.  Every  rhyme  is  a  point  gained 
and  very  often  an  amusing  surprise,  also,  for  we  never 
know  beforehand  what  is  coming  and  it  is  as  new  to  the 
author  as  to  another.  It  is  hard  for  anything  unpleasant 
to  intrude.  The  growing  lines  fill  the  moment.  For 
persons  who  cannot  work  and  who  yet  are  not  content  to 
be  idle,  we  have  no  better  medicine  than  this,  write  verses, 
though  the  worth  is  only  in  the  doing.  Tennyson's  lines 
will  suggest  themselves :  — 

"  But  for  the  unquiet  heart  and  brain 
A  use  in  measured  language  lies, 
The  sad  mechanic  exercise 
Like  dull  narcotic's  numbing  pain." 

C.  M. 


This  boy,  untrammelled  by  conventional  thought,  has 
caught  a  little  of  the  childlike  simplicity  and  forcible 
directness  of  the  old  ballad  singers,  that  modern  poets 
have  found  so  difficult  to  imitate.  Take,  for  instance,  the 
first  lines  of  "Ode,"  "O  Katie  San,"  "The  Robber 
Chorus."  "Righteous  Indignation"  is  a  bold,  strong 
setting  forth  of  a  truth  which  every  observer  must  ac 
knowledge.  Chivalry  is  one  of  the  beautiful  things  of  the 
past, —  gone  beyond  recall.  Like  an  old  picture,  we  long 
for  it,  yet  know  it  will  never  be  reproduced. 

K.   McF. 


xxxiii 


CONTENTS 


Ode, 

Ode  to  VM 

Farewell  to  K.  L  A., 

Valentine, 

Lullaby, 

Birthday  Greeting, 

Fairy  Land  Found, 

Night-blooming  Cereus, 

Nikko, 

Translation, 

A  Valentine, 

Little  Jarvis, 

The  Moon  Maiden, 

Our  Flag, 

Robbers'  Chorus, 

Righteous  Indignation, 

Dismantled  Omaha, 


Yokohama,  October,  1890,  1 

Yokohama,  November,  1890,  5 

Kobe,  December,  1890,  9 

Kobe,  February,  1891,  13 

Kobe,  March,  1891,  15 

Yokohama,  May,  1891,  19 

Yokohama,  May,  1891,  21 

Yokohama,  July,  1891,  27 

Yokohama,  September,  1891,  31 

Yokohama,  November,  1891,  33 

California,  May,  1892,  37 

New  Hampshire,  August,  1892,  39 

Longwood,  October,  1892,  55 

Longwood,  January,  1893,  63 

Longwood,  March,  1893,  67 

Longwood,  May,  1893,  71 

Longwood,  August,  1893,  75 


ODE 

There  is  a  form,  a  fairy  form, 
That  even  on  the  darkest  day 
Shines  brilliant  as  a  solar  ray, 
And  whose  soft  step,  so  light  the  sound, 
She  hardly  seems  to  touch  the  ground. 
Her  temper  is  so  sweet  and  airy 
You  think  you  interview  a  fairy ; 
She  never  loses  it,  you  see, 
And  that  is  why  we  two  agree. 
And  buried  in  her  beauteous  eye 
Full  many  a  romance  seems  to  lie; 
Protected  are  those  orbs  of  gray 
By  two  clear  crystals'  bright  array. 
I  sometimes  make  a  slight  request 
Which  to  this  angel  is  addressed — 
I  murmur,  "  Canst  thou  read  to  me  ?  " 
She  answers,  "  Dear,  I  cannot  see." 
O  artful  one,  thou  hast  acquired 
The  art  to  make  thy  gems  admired; 


Oh,  thou  canst  fish  for  compliments 
And  hook  them  up  from  all  the  gents! 
Her  rosebud  mouth  can  utter  naught 
But  honeyed  phrase  from  Cupid  caught; 
Her  tiny  hands  are  white  as  snow 
And  swift  upon  their  knitting  go. 
But  now,  perchance,  thou  hast  not  guessed 
The  subject  which  this  pen  has  blessed, 
But  if  you'll  lend  your  ear  to  me, 
I'll  softly  whisper— Madame  C. 


ODE  TO  V. 

Oft  in  the  night,  when  silence  deep 

O'ertakes  the  world  and  all  things  sleep, 

When  all  around  me  darkness  reigns, 

I  lie  and  think  with  troubled  brains 

Of  one  sweet  being  far  away 

Who  haunts  my  mind  both  night  and  day. 

Eight  thousand  miles  of  land  and  sea 
Lie  stretched  between  my  love  and  me — 
Eight  thousand  miles,  a  great  dull  waste — 
Yet  Cupid's  arrow  makes  great  haste — 
And  in  my  heart  full  many  a  wound 
From  those  sharp  arrows  I  have  found. 

The  threads  of  gold  that  at  me  flare 
From  off  the  foreign  brocades  rare 
Remind  me  of  my  darling's  hair ; 
The  brilliant  blue  of  eastern  skies 
Brings  back  to  mind  her  peerless  eyes, 
5 


The  blood  that  from  a  love -wound  drips 
Is  like  unto  her  ruby  lips. 

There  never  could  a  maiden  be 
With  softer,  fairer  skin  than  she ; 
Thou  canst  not  find  a  fairer  maid 
In  all  the  world  in  light  or  shade — 
Who  says  he  can  I  will  upbraid. 
Her  name  is  secret,  don't  you  see  ? 
I'll  only  give  the  letter  V — 
And  if  you  cannot  guess  her  name, 
Well,  then,  I'm  sure,  I'm  not  to  blame. 


FAREWELL  TO  K.  L.  A. 


O  Katie  San !  O  Katie  San ! 

How  void  of  light  will  seem  each  day 
And  empty  seem  this  whole  Japan 

When  thou  hast  gone  far,  far  away. 


How  strange  'twill  be  in  Tokio, 
When  we  go  there  our  calls  to  pay, 

To  see  your  house  in  Azabu 
Without  your  presence  bright  and  gay. 

in 

With  many  sighs  1  part  from  thee, 
And  make  lament  that  thou  must  go, 

But  sincere  wish  thou  hast  from  me 
That  gentle  winds  for  thee  may  blow. 

9 


IV 


We  used  to  fight,  and  when  I  beat 

It  never  did  your  ardour  mar; 
Saint  George's  cross  with  cheers  you'd  greet, 

I  louder  cheered  for  stripe  and  star! 


Forget  me  not  and  write  to  me 
In  secret  cipher  known  to  none ; 

I'll  do  the  same  and  write  to  thee, 
But  English  letters  we  will  shun ! 

VI 

I'll  say  farewell  now,  lady  mine ; 

Tis  hard,  but  "  best  of  friends  must  part." 
No  clearer  star  will  ever  shine 

Than  thy  bright  memory  in  my  heart. 


VALENTINE 

Oh,  this  is  to  my  Valentine 

So  sweet  and  plump,  with  face  divine. 

Accept  this  token  of  my  love 

Because  it  is  for  such  a  dove! 

Oh,  take  my  heart  and  give  me  thine- 

Fm  sure  one  kiss  you'll  not  decline. 

I'll  ne'er  forget  thee,  storm  or  rain, 

And  soon  I  hope  we'll  meet  again. 


LULLABY 

Sleep,  baby,  mother's  dear, 
Sleep  now  and  have  no  fear ; 
Rest  thou,  for  mother's  near — 
Sleep,  baby,  sleep ! 

Now  comes  the  gentle  dew 
Down  from  the  sky  so  blue, 
Bringing  a  dream  for  you — 
Sleep,  baby,  sleep ! 

Birdies  have  ceased  their  song, 
But  night  will  not  be  long, 
Soon  will  the  sunbeams  throng- 
Sleep,  baby,  sleep ! 

Light  comes  the  wind  so  free, 
Soft  rustling  every  tree, 
Sweet  words  'tis  whispering  thee, 
Bidding  thee  sleep. 
15 


Stars  twinkling  down  so  bright 
And  the  moon  with  silvery  light 
Watch  thee  all  thro'  the  night — 
Sleep,  baby,  sleep ! 

Lay  down  thy  tired  head; 
May  Heaven  blessings  shed 
And  angels  guard  thy  bed 
Whilst  thou  dost  sleep. 

Close  now  thine  eyes  so  bright, 
And  dark  tho'  be  the  night, 
Sleep,  darling,  all  is  right — 
Sleep,  baby,  sleep !  * 


*This  Lullaby  has  been  set  to  music. 
17 


BIRTHDAY  GREETING 

O  Mother!  who  for  me  hast  gently  cared 

In  sickness  and  in  health  with  kindly  hand, 
Who  all  my  childish  joys  and  griefs  hast  shared, 
Whose  equal  is  not  found  in  all  the  land — 
Oh,  on  this  day,  the  best  in  all  the  year, 
May  Heaven  truest  happiness  on  thee  pour, 
And  may  it  give  you  peace,  and  make  you 

blest, 
And  make  me  truly  grateful  evermore. 


FAIRY-LAND  FOUND 

O  rare  Japan,  O  beauteous  land, 
Thy  fairy  likeness  haunts  me  e'er ; 

How  quaint  and  childlike  art  thou  planned, 
So  small  and  yet  so  wondrous  fair. 

To  us  of  our  far  Western  shores, 
That  lie  across  the  stormy  seas, 

Tho'  strange  do  seem  thy  ways  and  laws, 
Because  so  childlike,  they  must  please. 

Thy  people  are  the  most  polite 
That  in  my  life  I  yet  have  seen ; 

You  get  salaams  from  morn  till  night 
From  folks  you  ne'er  before  have  seen. 

And  in  this  graceful  Eastern  land 
The  people  never  seem  in  haste ; 

There's  always  time  for  everything : 
The  very  poorest  dress  with  taste. 


The  musume,  with  her  obi  gay, 
So  kitten-like,  a  great  coquette, 

She  is  enchanting,  1  must  say, 
With  raven  locks  and  eyes  of  jet. 

With  snowy  tabbies,  fair  to  see, 
With  velvet  band  between  the  toes, 

Kimono  soft,  and  kangashi, 
She,  waddling,  to  the  party  goes. 

And  when  you  wish  a  call  to  pay, 

You  in  a  jinrikisha  ride; 
To  ring  or  knock  you  do  not  stay, 

But  shining  shogi  back  you  slide. 

You  leave  your  shoes  outside  the  door ; 

"  Konichi-wa,"  you,  bowing,  say — 
Your  hostess  kneels  upon  the  floor 

And  offers  tea  on  lacquer  tray. 

And  if  you  like  the  samisen, 
Then  ask  your  hostess  for  a  song, 

Light-tripping,  smiling,  there  and  then 
She'll  give  you  one,  tho'  not  too  long. 
23 


The  chop-sticks  you  can  hardly  use, 
But  when  the  musumes  with  them  toy, 

Their  slender  fingers  are  quite  deft 
In  picking  up  raw  fish  and  soy. 

In  silvery  whiteness,  'gainst  the  sky, 
With  graceful  outline,  nature's  plan, 

Raising  her  snowy  peak  on  high 
In  gracious  glory,  Fuji-san  ! 

O  queen  of  mountains,  peerless  crest, 
What  wonder  Nippon  worships  thee! 

What  marvellous  theme  for  artist  breast — 
Thy  fame  must  last  eternally! 

Japs  take  the  world  in  childlike  way, 
Content  with  little,  pleased  with  naught ; 

So  "  Syonara  "  we  will  say — 
"This  is  the  Fairy-land  long  sought." 


GLOSSARY.  —  Musume,  maiden  ;  obi,  sash  ;  tabbies, 
socks;  kimono,  gown;  kangashi,  hair  ornament;  shogi, 
door ;  Konichi-wa,  good-day ;  samisen,  guitar ;  syonara, 
farewell ;  soy,  sauce ;  jinrikisha,  man-carriage. 

25 


NIGHT-BLOOMING   CEREUS 

All  day  we  watched  the  still  unopened  flower, 
Hidden  within  its  folds  of  silky  brown, 
As  some  fair  maid,  who,  on  her  bridal  day, 

Lingers  with    diffidence   within    her    curtained 
bower. 


We  watch,  we  gaze,  we  hope,  and  yet  we  fear, 
As  now  the  sun  is  sinking  down  so  low, 
And    shadows    lengthening   ever    more    and 
more, 

That  the  shy  flower  will  not  appear. 

Yet,  what  is  this  our  raptured  eyes  behold  ? 
Slowly,  but  surely  back  the  curtain  rolls — 
With  stateliness  and  gracious  modesty 

We  see  the  beauteous  Cereus  unfold. 

27 


Open  at  last,  it  spreads  its  glorious  wings, 
Throws  out  a  halo  round  its  queenly  head, 
And  breathing  forth  a  fragrance   rare  and 
pure, 

Joy  into  every  heart  its  beauty  brings. 

It  stands  alone,  when  dusk  upon  us  creeps, 
Bringing  forth   light  from  darkness  like  the 

moon, 
The  sweetest  perfume  spreading  all  around — 

This  flower  wakes  while  every  other  sleeps. 

It  lives  but  hours  few,  then  fades  away 

Forever  into  deep  obscurity, 

Naught  but  its  lasting  memory  leaves  behind ; 
Oh,  whither  has  it  gone — oh,  who  can  say  ? 


NIKKO 

Where  is  it  that  the  hills  look  down 
Upon  a  quiet  little  town, 
Where  roaring  torrents  foam  and  rush 
And  streamlets  from  the  hillside  gush? 
Where  is  it  that  the  mist  and  cloud 
High  peaks  of  mountains  ever  shroud, 
Where  slanting  rays  the  sun  doth  shine 
Through  avenues  of  stateliest  pine ; 
Where  temples,  finest  in  the  land, 
All  lacquered,  carved,  and  gilded,  stand  ? 
Where  is  it  that  the  road  is  flanked 
By  bland  stone  Buddhas,  double  ranked ; 
Red,  sacred  bridge  the  stream  doth  span, 
Trod  never  but  by  Emperor's  clan. 
Where  in  tea-house  cool  you  meet, 
While  drinking  tea,  musumes  petite  ? 
Where  is  it  you  in  kaga  ride 
And  thus  o'ercome  steep  mountain -side  ? 
Oh,  where  can  one  alone  say  "  kekko  "  ?  * 
It  surely,  surely  is  in  Nikko! 

*  Perfect. 


THE   CROW  AND  THE  FOX 

Old  Mr.  Crow  was  perched  on  a  tree, 

In  his  beak  he  was  holding  some  cheese, 
Which  sly  Mr.  Fox  with  envy  did  see, 

And  spoke  some  words  like  unto  these: 
"  Ah !  good  day,  my  dear  Mr.  Crow, 
How  handsome  you  are!  what  a  beau! 

In  truth,  if  your  singing  be  good 
As  your  plumage  is  brilliant  and  gay, 
Without  the  least  doubt  I  may  say 

The  Phoenix  you  are  of  this  wood." 
At  these  words  Mr.  Crow  did  with  vanity  swell, 

And  his  beautiful  voice  to  show, 
He  opened  his  beak — to  the  ground  the  cheese 
fell. 

Mr.  Fox  quickly  seized  it,  then  said  to  the 

crow, 
"My  very  good  sir,  of  flatterers  take  heed — 

Their  living  depends  upon  whom  they  can 
dupe. 

33 


This    lesson   to   you   is   worth    much    cheese 

indeed." 
Mr.   Crow,  quite  ashamed,  and   on  this  point 

quite  sore, 

Vowed,  I  must  say,  rather  late  in  the  day, 
That  he'd  be  deluded  no  more. 


A  VALENTINE 

Oh,  stay,  stay  with  me,  my  bosom's  delight, 
Oh,  stay  by  my  side  while  I  wake  and  when 

dreaming, 
While   thy  fond    azure   eyes   soft   lustre   are 

beaming 

With  radiance  clear  like  stars  in  the  night. 
With  thy  gentleness  rare,  so  angelic,  so  fair, 
For  what  more  on  earth  would   mortal  man 

care  ? 

Oh,  stay,  stay  with  me  now  and  ever,  I  crave, 
And  the   storms   of   this   life   together   we'll 
brave. 


97 


LITTLE  JARVIS 

Have  you  heard  of  little  Jarvis, 
Of  the  gallant  little  Jarvis, 
Who,  on  board  the  Constellation 
Frigate,  pride  of  all  her  nation, 
Celebrate  in  song  and  story 
For  her  prowess  and  her  glory, 
Met  his  death  without  a  tremor, 
Mid  the  battle  roar  and  clamor  ? 
I  will  try  to  tell  the  story 
Of  the  battle  fierce  and  gory, 
Of  the  cannons'  roar  and  lightning, 
Making  noise  terrific,  frightening, 
Of  the  sabre's  clash  and  shimmer, 
Whilst  the  midnight  stars  did  glimmer, 
And  at  last  the  glorious  sun- 
Rising  found  the  vict'ry  won. 

Twas  the  frigate  Constellation 
Sailed  the  sea  one  summer's  morning, 

39 


In  the  balmy,  sunny  tropics. 
Trim  was  she,  and  fair  to  look  on, 
Graceful  were  her  masts  and  slender — 
Slenderer  her  yards  and  cross-trees — 
And  the  rigging  taut  like  bowstrings, 
Like  an  Indian  warrior's  bowstrings, 
And  her  sails  like  wings  outspreading, 
Like  the  white  wings  of  the  sea-gull. 

Little  Jarvis  was  a  middy, 
Youngest  middy  on  the  frigate, 
Though  there  was  not  one  more  active, 
None  more  fearless  or  more  active. 
Ofttimes  had  the  sailors  told  him 
Of  the  fight  with  the  Insurgente — 
How  the  Constellation  sunk  her, 
Sunk  her,  sent  her  to  the  bottom, 
While  the  heart  of  Jarvis  fluttered, 
Fluttered  with  an  ardent  longing 
To  be  present  at  a  sea-fight, 
In  a  tussle  with  a  Frenchman! 

On  this  evening  in  the  tropics, 
In  the  balmy,  sunny  tropics, 
Our  young  hero  at  the  mast-head 
41 


Eagerly  did  scan  the  ocean, 
Scan  the  blue  and  placid  ocean, 
When  his  keen  eye  caught  an  object 
Resting  near  the  gray  horizon. 
Twas  a  frigate  under  full  sail, 
Bearing  down  upon  them  swiftly, 
Bearing  down  with  port-holes  open. 
Quick  as  thought  did  little  Jarvis 
Scramble  down  the  main -mast  ratlines, 
And  reported  to  the  captain, 
E'en  before  the  lookout's  warning 
Set  the  whole  ship's  crew  a-stirring. 
Nearer  came  the  stranger,  nearer, 
Till  could  be  discovered  with  glasses 
The  French  tri-color  at  the  mast-head. 
Quick  the  decks  were  cleared  for  action, 
Quick  the  magazines  were  opened, 
Quick  the  guns  were  primed  and  shotted, 
And  the  crew  stood  at  their  lock-strings 
Waiting  for  the  order  "  Fire  !  " 

In  high  glee  was  little  Jarvis, 
And  he  walked  the  deck  right  proudly 
With  his  hand  upon  his  dirk's  hilt. 
But  alas  for  him!  the  captain 

43 


Ordered  Jarvis  to  the  main-top, 
Said  that  that  should  be  his  station, 
And  an  old  and  trusty  bos'en 
He  sent  with  him  as  protector; 
For  the  captain,  always  careful, 
Always  careful  of  his  middies, 
Did  not  like  to  risk  young  Jarvis 
In  the  fray  upon  the  gun-deck. 
Sadly  Jarvis  heard  his  orders, 
Sadly  did  he  mount  the  ratlines, 
Sadly  did  he  take  his  station. 
Vainly  did  the  kind  old  bos'en 
Try  to  brighten  and  to  cheer  him. 
All  seemed  dark  to  little  Jarvis, 
That  before  had  seemed  so  pleasant; 
How  could  he  his  name  distinguish 
Out  of  reach  of  all  this  fighting, 
Out  of  reach  of  shell  and  gunshot? 

Now  the  Frenchman  drew  up  closer — 
The  fifty-four  gun  war-ship  Vengeance. 
Larger  was  she  by  a  quarter 
Than  the  gallant  Constellation. 
Soon  the  fight  began  in  earnest, 
In  a  stern  and  deadly  earnest, 

45 


Broadside  after  broadside  thundered, 
Thundered  making  deadly  havoc, 
Splintering  bulwarks,  killing,  wounding, 
Flash  on  flash  lit  up  the  ocean, 
Lit  the  quiet  passive  ocean, 
Cries  and  shouts  and  cheers  resounded, 
Mingling  with  the  roar  of  battle. 
Little  Jarvis,  all  excitement, 
His  down-heartedness  forgetting, 
Cheered  and  waved  his  sea-cap  wildly, 
Shouting  "Go  it !  "  "  Let  'em  have  it !  " 
"  Give  it  to  the  bloody  Frenchman ! " 
Soon  'twas  seen  on  board  the  Vengeance 
She  was  getting  badly  worsted, 
Men  were  falling  by  the  dozens, 
And  the  decks  with  blood  grew  slipp'ry ; 
One  by  one  the  guns  dismounted 
By  the  aiming  of  the  Yankees, 
Aiming  that  was  sure  and  deadly.  • 
But  the  Frenchman  still  persisted, 
Bravely,  desperately  persisted. 
One  by  one  the  masts  came  crashing; 
In  a  sad  plight  was  the  Vengeance, 
Helpless,  at  her  foeman's  mercy, 
Helpless,  without  power  of  motion. 

47 


Goaded  on  by  desperation, 

Two  officers  made  one  more  effort ; 

A  gun  they  shotted  to  the  muzzle, 

Aimed  it  at  the  Constellation, 

At  the  tall  and  stately  main-mast. 

Little  Jarvis  in  the  main-top, 

At  his  station  in  the  main -top, 

Felt  the  great  mast  bend  beneath  him ; 

Then  he  heard  an  ominous  cracking, 

Heard  a  loud  and  ominous  cracking. 

Now,  the  bos'en,  when  he  felt  it, 

Started  downward  quick,  exclaiming, 

"  Come,  sir,  come,  the  mast's  agoing ! " 

Little  Jarvis  looked  down  calmly, 

Calmly  to  the  deck  below  him — 

All  the  while  the  mast  kept  swaying, 

Swaying,  bending  lower  down — 

But  young  Jarvis  answered  firmly, 

Answered  steadily  and  firmly, 

"  I  must  not  desert  my  station. 

Officers  obey  their  orders. 

I  shall  stay — it  is  my  duty." 

And  to  all  renewed  entreaty 

He  remained  still  firm,  unflinching, 

Till  at  last  the  lofty  main-mast 

49 


Prostrate  fell  with  noise  appalling. 
Falling  like  a  mighty  pine-tree, 
Like  a  monarch  of  the  forest 
Blasted  by  some  raging  tempest : 
And  the  bos'en  halfway  down  it 
Barely  reached  the  deck  in  safety. 
But  oh !  where  was  valiant  Jarvis, 
Valiant,  noble  little  Jarvis  ? 
There  upon  the  deck  they  found  him 
Dead,  but  on  his  face  still  wearing, 
Still,  that  look  of  calm  composure. 

Morning  dawfied.    The  frigate  Vengeance 
Lay  a  shattered  hulk  to  leeward, 
And  the  conqueror,  Constellation, 
Stanch  and  sound  save  for  her  main-mast. 
But  although  they  were  triumphant, 
Sorrow  hung  all  o'er  the  vessel. 
As  that  night  they  buried  Jarvis, 
With  the  Stars  and  Stripes  enshrouded, 
In  the  sea  he  loved  so  dearly. 
Then  full  many  a  hoary  sailor 
Dropped  a  tear  upon  his  body, 
For  on  board  the  Constellation 
None  had  done  his  duty  better, 
51 


None  had  died  with  greater  courage! 
May  our  seamen  e'er  be  like  him, 
Ever  follow  his  example. 
Honor  be  to  little  Jarvis! 
Honor  then — now — hereafter! 


53 


THE  MOON  MAIDEN 

(FROM   THE   JAPANESE) 

Down  from  the  heavenly  regions  bright 
Came  the  Moon  Maiden,  lustrous  white. 
From  up  in  the  clouds  where  she  did  soar, 
She  could  see  the  Suruga's  golden  shore 
Washed  by  the  ocean's  murmuring  tide, 
Where  junks  and  fishermen's  boats  did  ride. 
Silently,  cloudlike  she  floated  down, 
White  as  the  snow  on  Fuji's  crown. 
Soft  was  the  air  on  that  sweet  spring  morn, 
And  fragrance  of  plum  blossoms  zephyr -born 
Was  wafted  up  through  the  balmy  air 
To  this  wondrous  sky-born  virgin  fair. 
She  lighted  on  the  pebbly  strand, 
And  then  stood  spell -bound  on  the  sand, 
Gazing  at  the  scene  around, 
The  fairest  she  had  ever  found. 
The  crest  of  Fuji  towering  high, 
Plum-trees  blossoming  far  and  nigh ; 

55 


Fisher-folks'  huts  under  pine-trees  high, 
Each  with  its  tiny  garden  near  by; 
Bamboo  groves  with  their  waving  grace, 
And  rising  sun  gilding  Suruga's  face. 
Charmed  was  the  Moon  Maiden  at  the  sight, 
As  she  wandered  along  with  footsteps  light, 
While  sweet  strains  from  her  flute  were  heard 

around 

Like  the  sound  of  rain-drops  on  thirsty  ground. 
She  picked  up  shells  on  the  briny  beach, 
Amazed  at  the  varied  hue  of  each. 
So  soft    on   the   sand   seemed   each    breaking 

wave 

That  to  dip  her  feet  did  the  Maiden  crave. 
So  she  hung  on  the  bough  of  a  neighboring 

pine 

Her  winged  coat  made  of  feathers  fine, 
And  laying  her  flute  on  a  rocky  ledge, 
She  wended  her  way  to  the  water's  edge, 
And  strolled  along  by  its  rippling  side, 
Dipping  her  shining  feet  in  the  tide. 
A  lone  fisherman  chancing  to  pass  that  way 
Saw  the  feathery  coat  on  the  pine-tree  spray; 
Hastening  forward  he  took  it  down, 
For  he  knew  it  must  be  an  angel's  gown. 

57 


Of  the  heavenly  flute  he  had  heard  the  sound, 
And   he   muttered   low,  "  Tis  a  prize   I  have 

found. 

This  robe  to  the  shrine  as  a  relic  must  go 
Of  a  heavenly  visitor  here  below." 
But  the  Moon  Maiden  hastened  up  from  the 

tide. 

"  O  mortal,  give  me  my  coat,"  she  cried. 
The  fisherman  gazed  with  curious  awe 
At  a  form  so  radiant  earth  ne'er  held  before. 
But  he  said,  tho'  touched  by  the  Maiden's  woe, 
"  As  a  gift  to  the  temple  should  the  garment 

go." 

"  O  birds  of  the  air  that  swiftly  fly, 
Give  me  your  wings !  "  did  the  Maiden  cry. 
"  O  Goddess  far  from  the  silver  moon," 
Said  the  fisherman,  "  grant  me  this  small  boon : 
If  to  play  for  me  on  your  flute  you'll  deign, 
Your  winged  coat  you  shall  have  again." 
"  Right  gladly  will  I  play  for  thee, 
But  first  restore  my  robe  to  me. 
Verily,  one  like  me  from  high 
You  cannot  think  would  act  a  lie." 
Then  the  fisherman  yielded  up  the  wings, 
And  sweeter  than  nightingale  e'er  sings, 

59 


The  dulcet  notes  of  her  flute  were  heard 
Enrapturing  man,  and  beast,  and  bird. 
Fainter  and  fainter  the  sweet  strains  grew, 
As  swiftly  the  Moon  Maiden  heavenward  flew. 
The  mortal  stood  gazing  on  the  shore 
Till  her  lustrous  form  could  be  seen  no  more; 
Then  turning  homeward  he  made  his  way, 
But  never  could  he  forget  that  day^. 
But  watched  for  her  daily,  sunshine  of  rain — 
But  the  Moon  Maiden  never  came  again. 
For  many  years  did  the  pine-tree  stand, 
Till  stricken  at  last  by  the  tempest's  hand. 
And  now  on  the  sacred  spot  there  stands 
A  shrine  erected  by  reverent  hands, 
That  all  who  pass  may  see  it,  and  know 
Of  the  Moon  Maiden's  visit  here  below. 
Children  have  lived,  grown  old  and  gray, 
Generations  have  gone  and  passed  away, 
But  the  bamboo  groves  still  wave  with  grace 
Their  leaves  'gainst  the  sky,  like  a  veil  of  lace ; 
Still  all  unchanged  is  Suruga's  tide, 
And  Fuji  rearing  her  crest  in  pride. 


61 


OUR  FLAG 

Unfurl  ye  to  the  breeze,  ye  standard  brave ! 

Fling  forth  thy  folds  o'er  our  beloved  land! 

Wave  proudly  from  the  golden  western  strand 
To  old  Atlantic's  bleak,  tempestuous  wave ! 

Shine  on  thro'  war  and  tumult  still  the  same, 
O  silver  stars,  that  long  have  brightly  shone ! 
Gleam  on,  O  constellation  grand  our  fathers 
won, 

And  gained  our  native  land  immortal  fame ! 

And  let  thy  crimson  stripes  remind  each  loyal 

son 

Of  blood  shed  by  brave  patriots 
Who  saw  the  cruel  despots  turn  and  flee, 
And  let  the  white  remind  him  that  peace  they 
nobly  won. 

63 


Fear  not,  ye  strong  flag,  but  wave  serenely  on, 
Tho'  storms  do  blow,  and  tempests  rock  the 

mast, 
For  Liberty,  our  Queen,  thy  staff  holds  fast — 

No  storm  can  shake  the  rock  she  stands  upon! 


THE   ROBBERS'  CHORUS 

We  are  wicked,  bold  brigands, 
We're  the  merriest  of  bands 
You  can  find  in  all  the  lands 
Near  and  far! 

Every  man's  a  master-thief. 
Brave  Bill  Black's  our  chief. 
Our  dark  deeds  are  past  belief. 
Hip,  hurrah ! 

The  misers  in  the  night 
In  their  beds  do  quake  with  fright, 
For  they  fear  their  guineas  bright 
We  will  take. 

And  we  steal  the  farmer's  sheep, 
And  ladies'  diamonds  while  they  sleep ; 
And  then  they're  sure  to  weep, 
When  they  wake. 
67 


Oh,  a  merry  life  we  lead, 
And  ne'er  money  do  we  need, 
And  like  princes  do  we  feed. 
Tra  la  la! 

Then,  hurrah  for  our  bold  chief  ! 
And  hurrah  for  each  brave  thief! 
Now,  let  your  cheers  be  brief ! 
Hip,  hurrah ! 


RIGHTEOUS  INDIGNATION 

Has  chivalry  vanished  forever, 

Has  gallantry  gone  to  the  dogs, 
Have  gentlemen  all  turned  to  bumpkins 

With  no  more  manners  than  dogs  ? 

Can  men  let  their  wives  be  insulted 

By  caddish  ill-mannerly  cubs  ? 
And  sons,  whose  best  friends  are  their  mothers, 

Have  they  nothing  for  them  but  snubs? 

Are  ladies  no  more  to  be  honored, 
And  with  courtesy  treated  no  more? 

If  this  is  what  they  call  progress, 
Then,  better  the  days  of  yore, 

When  gallant  might  fight  for  his  lady, 
If  he  heard  her  name  taken  in  vain, 

Nor  ceased  with  his  sword  to  avenge  her, 
Till  either  he  won  or  was  slain. 

71 


If  a  lady  says  to  one  "  Good-morning," 

Be  she  high  or  of  low  degree, 
"  Good-morning,  my  lady,"  or  "  madame," 

!n  past  times  the  response  would  be. 

The  phrase  now  is  "  Good-morning,  woman." 
Do  your  wish  to  know  how  I  know  ? 

From  a  "  gentleman  "  who's  been  to  England ; 
At  least,  he  calls  himself  so. 

O  chivalry,  can  it  have  fled 

Where  the  gauntlet  and  helmet  have  gone- 
Can  it  be  'tis  a  thing  of  the  past  ? 

I,  for  one,  do  its  loss  deeply  mourn. 

O  ye  arrogant  lords  of  creation! 

Let  not  all  your  honor  decay, 
Let  deference  be  e'er  shown  to  women, 

And  true  gallantry  ne'er  pass  away. 


73 


TO  THE   DISMANTLED   MAN-OF-WAR, 
THE   OMAHA 

Alas !  is  this  the  dear  old  ship 

On  which  I  once  did  dwell  ? 
Is  this  the  bark,  on  which  I  sailed, 

That  rode  the  waves  so  well? 

Can  this  be  she,  all  stripped  and  bare 

And  falling  to  decay, 
That  once  at  anchor  proudly  rode 

In  far-off  foreign  bay  ? 

Her  stately  masts  are  now  laid  low, 
Her  shrouds  and  spars  are  gone, 

Her  crew  have  vanished,  and  upon 
Her  decks  I  stand  alone. 

The  wheel  is  gone  that  shaped  her  course, 

Her  port -holes  too  are  bare, 
The  guns  that  once  did  through  them  frown 

Are  now  no  longer  there. 

75 


Through  many  a  storm  I've  heard  the  wind 
Shriek  through  her  rigging  taut, 

While  with  the  ponderous  seething  wave 
The  good  ship  bravely  fought. 

But  though  the  tempest  raged  full  long, 
And  loud  has  roared  the  blast, 

The  gallant  ship  has  always  come 
Safe  through  it  all  at  last. 

Her  cabin  that  was  once  my  home 

Is  cheerless  now  and  cold ; 
Where  everything  so  homelike  was 

Is  naught  but  rust  and  mould. 

Aye,  all  is  changed,  naught  but  bespeaks 

Of  age  and  of  decay ; 
I  cast  one  long  and  lingering  look 

And  sadly  turn  away. 

Still  when  I  see  the  battered  hulk, 

Dismantled  though  it  be, 
Bright  memories  of  its  better  days 

Come  crowding  back  to  me. 


77 


"  Life  is  not  all  a.  pleasure."     Thou  saidst,  dear  bey, 
Thy  dear  brave  words  upon  a  sunny  morn, 
When  other  children  played  along  tie  beach 
Jlnd  tbou  turnedst  back,  resigning,  ah  !  bow  much. 

For  "  somewhere  in  the  world  a  child  must  bf 
Suffering."     Didst  thou  bear  the  voice  of  fate, 
And  say,  brave  soldier,  "  I  mil  be  be," 
While  God  said, "  Let  Love  walk  with  him  "  ? 

C.  H.  H. 
July,  1894. 


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